Down in the cellar, Golgas unlocked the door to the Cryptomancy laboratory. Pneumatic tubes hissed, and he pushed the heavy steel door open.

The laboratory was a capacious room, large enough to house a small cathedral. Workbenches were spaced around the room, and a sapphire-blue fire blazed in a forge. Blackboards three stories high covered the walls, filled with alien numerals and inscrutable expressions. A bald, bespectacled man was on a ladder about twenty feet up, scribbling numbers on a tiny blank patch of blackboard, chalk dust spilling from his hand like falling snowflakes. Beyond the work area lay a storeroom with many racks and shelves.

The novitiates paused in their work, looking up at Golgas’ with mild trepidation. He waved them to the door they had just entered.

“Please exit,” Golgas said imperiously, “I require the room.”

As the students departed, Leo peeked at the contents on a nearby workbench. A ball of yarn, a slab of shale rock, a cup of crushed mulberries, a bucket of what looked suspiciously like snake skin moltings.

“What’s all this crap for?” he asked Golgas.

“Cryptomancy, obviously,” Golgas said. “Our art requires inputs both delicate and esoteric. Substitute a length of rope for a ball of yarn and, well, the results can be deadly. One of my novitiates lost his left ear when he used fir leaves instead of juniper in an enciphering potion.”

“What are those?” Gianna said, pointing to a hovering yellow orb. Several of them were spaced around the room, emitting a steady and brilliant amber light.

“Don't touch that!” Golgas exclaimed.

“I didn't!” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Sorry!”

Golgas breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his head. “It's a personal project of mine,” he said. “Self-encrypting ink.”

“That … actually sounds kind of neat,” Gianna said. “How does it work?”

“Right now it’s just a prototype.” He walked over to one of the tables in the center of the room. A small inkwell rested on it. On close inspection, the ink — which was the purest black — seemed to be sloshing slightly, minuscule waves crashing to and fro. Golgas gestured to the floating amber orbs. “I’ve created a mesh network of these orbs to facilitate magical computation. The ink is bonded to the network, and anything an author writes with the ink is magically encrypted by randomly using one of 4,314 cryptomantic algorithms.”

Golgas set the inkwell down, admiring his brainchild like a proud parent. “Still a lot of work to go on that. But anyway, shall we get to business?”

“Yes, let’s,” said Cosimo, who seemed thoroughly uninterested in topic self-encrypting ink. “Let’s not delay a minute longer. There are other adventurers on the hunt…”

“Be that as it may,” Golgas said, “good cryptomancy takes time. Oodles of time. The last time you rushed me to a conclusion — on that cryptogram — I failed to make a proper deduction. Do not expect to have your results by tonight.”

Cosimo pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring. “How long will it take?”

“To do it right… that would depend on the nature and depth of the encryption. Optimistically, it might take a day. More probably, it could take days, a week — or it could even take years. There is a faint but very real possibility that it might never be decoded, or that the cipher is just gibberish.”

“I don’t have years, Golgas. I don’t even have weeks. Give me a more accurate estimate.”

“That’s what I’m about to do.” Cosimo may have been richer than Azrael himself, and he may have been Golgas’ employer, but Golgas did not seem cowed by him. “I am going to apply the Diffie-Helman algorithm to run some preliminary analysis on the code. It will take several hours. When it’s done, I’ll know what algorithms are best suited for the task, and I’ll be able to give you a more accurate time range.”

“Right,” Cosimo said with a shrug, obviously annoyed. “Carry on. Proceed.”

“I’ll just be needing a few things,” Golgas said. Those few things turned out to be a drop of asp venom, three drops of ammonia, and a frozen squirrel carcass. The mixture elicited a fetid odor that made Leo pinch his nose.

Golgas tossed these items into the forge, which leapt and flared emerald. He held the parchment just out of reach of it, letting the flame lick the edges. Then he blew it and set it on the workbench.

“There you have it.”

The letters on the cryptogram were rapidly changing, rotating and permutating, considering the innumerable possibilities.

“That’s it?” said Gianna, peering down at the paper. “It’s done?”

“Of course not. It will take several hours for the algorithm to complete. Meanwhile, I have work to do. Return on the morrow and I will have your results.”

“I want to know sooner,” Cosimo said. He was clearly antsy that someone had beat them to the Azkaya clue.

“Fine. When my analysis is complete I’ll send a courier with the results. Where will you be staying?”

“My usual choice of lodging,” Cosimo said. “Cloud Nine.”

***

Cloud Nine turned out to be a popular tavern at the edge of campus. After departing the College of Cryptomancy, Cosimo hailed one of the gondoliers and they clambered into his rocking vessel. The gondolier, whose face was painted in white and black, serenaded them like lovers as he rowed through Skyborn’s misty canals. He eventually came to a stop right outside the tavern.

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It was a weekend night, so Cloud Nine was packed to the brim with students and faculty, its enchanted hearth offering a warm refuge from the biting cold. Leo and Cosimo claimed the last vacant table in the second-floor gallery, just as a young female bard took the stage below and began singing a ballad about unrequited love in soft, dulcet tones.

Cosimo snapped his fingers at a nearby barmaid. “Menus, please.”

The barmaid looked mildly affronted, but complied with alacrity.

“What’s good here?” Leo asked Cosimo.

“The brews. Most of the food is shit, but the brews are divine. I swear they put something it. Alchemy, or something. I’m partial to Wushu.”

Nico helped himself to peanuts, which were provided free of charge at each table.

“Can I order a brew?” Gianna asked.

“No—” said Nico.

“Yes—” said Leo.

“She has an addictive personality,” Nico said. “If she takes to drink the way she took to swords and magic and books—”

“—she'll be dead in a fortnight. True.”

“So I can explore ancient, mythical deathtraps… but I can't have a sip of beer?”

The girl had a fair point. Leo had once known a journeyman blacksmith, a boy of only fifteen years, who had assiduously avoided alcohol, tabac, tartleaf, cocoa, and virtually every other decadent delight life has on offer. He even swore off women, fearing the cock pox. He claimed it was to protect his health. Then one day he was walking under the Musea while it was undergoing renovation, and a falling piece of masonry struck him on the head, killing him instantly. Leo himself had resolved a long time ago he was not going to live for the future, for a day which may never come. Caution was a vice, fear a disease; one must seize the present.

“Oh, fine," Leo said, laughing. "What's the harm in one drink?”

They ordered drinks and an interesting variety of food, including peppered boar, sweetbread, and a platter of fruit (persimmons, cherries, and tangerines). Leo requested an omelet toast, while Cosimo ordered himself a side of sugared snails, which were apparently so good that he licked his fingers clean.

Below, the Bard ended her long-winded ballad and began a new tune — a lively jig about dancing fairy sprites. Students swarmed the dance floor, drunkenly swaying in time with the beat, tapping their feet in rhythm.

“Look,” said Cosimo, pointing in the opposite direction. “You see the man over there? The one wearing an ermine coat?”

They turned their heads in unison. In the corner of the tavern, a tall man with a hooked nose and an ermine coat was poring over some documents and nursing a mug of hot cocoa.

“The old fart? What about him?” asked Leo.

“That old fart is a Visage.”

“A what?” said Gianna.

“A Visage,” Nico explained, “is an immortal subject of one of the gods or goddesses of magic — Azrael’s sons and daughters." Visages were like demigods. Extraordinarily powerful, they typically resided inside the attunement spire of their patron.

“I didn’t realize they mingle with mortals,” Leo said. “I thought Azrael forbids it.”

“Some mingle,” said Cosimo, taking a long draft of his cold brew. His snail-smeared fingers left pink residue on the glass. “Some even teach. His name is Tak, and he’s chair of the Conjuration department. Azrael forbids the gods and their Visages from directly interfering in mortal affairs, but he does not forbid them from rendering aid. Teaching allows a Visage to grow his patron’s cult.”

“Cult?” Nico did not know what he meant.

“Their followers. A god's powers wax and wane as their cults shrink or swell. The more followers, the more devotees, the more subjects with attunements… the more powerful the god becomes.”

Intriguing. Nico had never heard that before.

The barmaid reappeared. “How is everything?” Before waiting for a reply, she turned to Leo, her eyes twinkling. “Did you enjoy your omelet toast?” she asked.

Leo had a natural charm with women. But he had little interest in them — or anyone, for that matter. Romance did not interest him. But with his golden hair and dashing blue eyes, women tended to be drawn to him.

“Oh, the omelet toast was egg-celent.”

The barmaid gave a confused smile, not sure she heard him right.

Gianna intervened. “He has a pathological need to inflict terrible puns on helpless bystanders,” she explained to the barmaid.

“Puns?”

“A play on words,” Leo said. “The very pinnacle of highbrow humor. Would you like to hear s’more?”

The barmaid’s smile slipped from her face. “Mmm… no thanks.” She sauntered off, as Gianna giggled.

Nico turned to Cosimo. “Is it true that Skyborn has portals to all attunement spires?”

Cosimo nodded. “All the known attunement spires, anyway. They call it the Nexus. We passed it on our way over here. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Nico said, his mind gravitating again to his ambition of gaining an Illusion attunement. The Illusion Spire was based in the Nordian village of Velbruk, just on the very edge of the Discovered World, so far north as to be almost prohibitively remote. Now an idea occurred to him. If I could sneak away tonight for just a few hours… Would Cosimo notice? Would he even care? This might be Nico’s one opportunity to reach the Spire. Previously he had entertained notions of traveling to Nordia… but with his guild work and other obligations it was difficult to imagine when or how he would do so.

They continued eating, drinking, and chatting. Two hours later Golgas’ courier — a grad student, by the look of him — arrived. He handed Cosimo a folded crisp, cream-colored note, and then he nodded politely and took his leave. Cosimo unfolded the note, his brown eyes going over the words multiple times. His lips curled to a frown. “Decryption will take three days at a minimum. One week maximum.”

Hands trembling, jaw clenched tight in frustration, Cosimo shredded the letter and fed the scraps into the candle on the table.

“We’re fucked,” he said sulkily.

“Fucked how?” Leo said. “Whoever got to Azkaya before us, they have to decrypt the same message. And Golgas is one of the best cryptomancers —”

“The best. Not one of the best. I never settle for second place, Leo. That’s why I hired you lot.”

“Better yet,” Leo said, rallying. “It’ll take us three days to crack the clue. Those other bums will have to wait two weeks.”

It was sound logic, but Cosimo was not in a rational frame of mind. He downed the rest of his drink and stood up. He had polished off several servings of Wushu, and his eyes were glazed over.

“Bedtime for me. I got you three your own room.” He handed them the key, which was inscribed with the room number. “Best get cozy. We have at least three days here. I should find a rookery… send a raven to the Mint, inform Max and the rest of them about our delay…”

“Three days,” Nico repeated, a small hope blossoming within him. “Is there something you want us to do in the meantime?”

Cosimo’s mind was still a million miles away. He waved airily, starting to detach himself from them. “Do as you wish.”

He walked away, and Nico turned to his companions.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, “I’m going to the Illusion Spire.”